what there is, what there isn't,
and whether there ever was
i am an entire generation unto myself,
a cringing, crawling conglomerate.
escape routes are too blurry
to follow, too steep to step around
and harder to find than love:
with cheap red lips we find the taste
of sex too graphic for our liking,
the blood too bright for our eyes.
whether there might have been
something different, or ever was
even just the hint of a possibility
of a dream from a dreamer:
in a silo now we must build up
the prosperity of the future,
must starve and hoard now
to have hope in the winter.